


matte black

by waveydnp



Series: interactive introverts [6]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Tour Fic, interactive introverts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: dan paints his nails in dublin - tries to anyway





	matte black

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to mandy for enduring my endless canon questions

Dan’s face lights up when he opens the bag. He’s profuse in his thanks for the girl who’d gifted it to him, his voice soft and pitched high as he leans down to give her a hug. 

It’s genuine, Phil can tell. He can always tell the difference between sincere gratitude and the kind that has to be feigned. 

Dan is better at it than Phil, even if only a little. Phil’s not so good at faking a smile, no matter if he wants to or not. But he _is_ good at reading Dan. 

“Will you wear it?” the girl asks.

Dan assures her he will. Phil’s not sure if that’s true, but he gives the girl a smile as Dan hands the bag off to Marianne so they can take their selfie. 

*

His parents are in the crowd again tonight. It’s not as nerve-wracking as last time. 

Kath hugs them both tight afterwards. “Shall we go for a drink to celebrate?” she asks.

Phil shoots a sideways glance at Dan before he thinks about answering. Dan smiles that kind of teasing smile that says ‘yes, Phil, of course we can go out drinking with your parents.’

Nine times out of ten Phil knows Dan would say yes even if he wanted to say no, but something about tour makes his yes a little more emphatic. He’s always a happy mess after their shows, dripping with sweat and buzzing with adrenaline. 

“We’d love to,” Dan answers for the both of them.

They agree to meet at the pub an hour later, because Phil is sweaty too. Not Dan’s kind, the kind that soaks through his shirt and leaves track marks in his stage makeup, but still. They both need a shower.

*

Dan is already dressed by the time Phil exits the steam-foggy bathroom wrapped in soft white towels. Dan is dressed all in black and sat at the little table in the corner with his back to Phil, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

“What’re you doing?” Phil asks, squatting down next to his suitcase and pulling out the first shirt he can find that isn’t just merch. 

“Painting my nails.”

Oh. Of course he is. Phil should have known that, should have remembered the glint he’d seen in Dan’s eye earlier when he’d peered into that gift bag. 

“Oh, right,” Phil says, dropping his towels and pulling up his boxers. He thinks he sounds casual. He hopes he does.

Dan doesn’t say anything else. Phil pulls his jeans on and buttons up his shirt, trying to think of what he’d normally say in a moment like this. 

The thing is, there hasn’t been a moment like this, not in a long while. Not since that day so many months ago when they’d dressed all in yellow and Phil had been the one painting Dan’s nails. They’d gone to the shop together, picked out the various sunny shades of varnish together, giggled together as Phil did a truly heinous job of decorating the tips of Dan’s fingers. 

That had been for fun. It had felt like putting on a costume, like the makeup that gets caked on their faces every night before their show. 

This is different, completely. Phil knows this means something completely different to Dan. 

It’s been years since Dan started bringing home different bottles of black polish, years since he started painting his nails and finding reasons to take it right back off again. Phil’s seen Dan’s nails with varnish on them more times than he can count, but he can count on one hand the number of times anyone else has.

“You seen my wax?” Phil asks, glancing over his shoulder. 

Dan’s still sat there, still hunched over like he hasn’t moved a muscle. “Under the bed,” he mutters. 

Phil doesn’t question it. He has an inexplicable habit of leaving his things in weird places, and Dan has an inexplicable habit of knowing where all those weird places are. Phil looks under the bed and isn’t surprised to see it there waiting for him.

He sits on the edge of their queen and rubs a towel over his head to catch the spare drips that still cling to his hair. He’s just unscrewing the lid on the wax when Dan lets out a sigh. A long drawn out one, the kind that means he wants Phil’s attention but doesn’t want to ask for it. 

Normally Phil would roll his eyes and ask Dan what his problem is. Tonight he abandons his wax and walks over to place his hand gently between Dan’s shoulders blades. He looks down at Dan’s handiwork and feels a swell of pride. He’s only got one hand done but it looks good, at least in Phil’s admittedly limited experience. It’s neat, clean around the edges with no obvious smudging. 

Dan spreads his fingers and cocks his head to the side a bit, studying. Phil slides his hand up, up the back of Dan’s neck and into his hair. It’s getting a little shaggy, just the way Phil likes it. The way that allows him to play with it a little easier, the way that reminds him of sitting on the sofa with Dan in his Manchester flat and watching films while he twirled that long brown fringe around his fingers. 

Sometimes Phil misses that flat and that Dan, with his long hair and his penchant for clinging to Phil like a koala whenever they were alone together. Sometimes he misses that younger version of himself and the newness of it all. 

But not right now. Because right now Dan’s brave enough to paint his nails for no other reason than because he wants to. Back then he wasn’t. Back then he wouldn’t have even told Phil that he wanted to. 

“It looks really good,” Phil says softly, rubbing the lobe of Dan’s ear gently between his thumb and index finger. That wouldn’t have been his reaction back then. It wasn’t his reaction the first time Dan did something that challenged the rules Phil had assumed were unbreakable. 

Dan has grown and matured in many ways, ways that have led him to where he is now, with a wardrobe half full of women’s jumpers and a single silver hoop in his ear. But Phil has grown too, in ways that fill him with shame to think he ever needed to in the first place, but some things are hard to shake.

They’ve both worked hard to shake, to push back against ideas and habits that wanted to die hard. Phil thinks he’s done pretty well. It almost doesn’t even cross his mind to wonder what his dad might think if he notices.

“I can’t do my left hand,” Dan says. “It won’t look as good.”

Phil suppresses a sigh of his own— Dan, ever the perfectionist no matter how ultimately inconsequential the thing may be. They’ve had this fight enough times for Phil to know that nothing will come of it. It’s one of those things he doesn’t understand but he has to accept. 

“I can do it,” Phil says, reaching for the bottle. 

“No,” Dan says bluntly. “You won’t do it any better than me.”

“Oi.”

“No offense,” Dan adds.

“I can do it well enough.”

Dan turns in his chair and looks up at Phil. “I don’t want well enough,” he says quietly. “I want it to look good.”

“It will.”

Dan just shakes his head, pushing his chair out and standing up. “S’ok. I mostly just wanted to see what it looked like matte.” He holds up his hand for Phil to look. “Looks cool, yeah?”

Phil nods. “Let me do your other hand.”

“Nah. You should go do your hair or we’re gonna be late.” He gives Phil a flat lipped smile and steps around him as he heads for the bathroom. 

“What’re you doing?” Phil asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Do your hair, Phil,” Dan replies. “Kath hates it when we’re late.”

*

Dan’s fingers are long, so long they can almost wrap all the way around the base of his pint. Phil stares at them as he tries to sip his Guiness without scrunching up his nose in distaste. 

Beside him his mum is laughing, and he watches as Dan raises his hand to cover his mouth. He’s laughing too-- someone must have said something funny. Phil hadn’t heard what it was, but he laughs along too.

He forces the laugh until it becomes a real one. He’s happy. He’s in Dublin with the people he loves most in the world, making money while sharing his dream with an adoring audience and doing it all with the man who is next to him in life. 

The man whose palms are broad, whose fingers are long, and whose nails bear the evidence of a few stray specks of matte black polish.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr @waveydnp


End file.
